A Gentleman Never Tells

chapter Sixteen

There are few wild beasts more to be dreaded than a communicative man having nothing to say.

—Christian Nestell Bovee

Gabrielle stood at the doorway to the music room of their Mayfair town house and smiled. It had taken her and her aunt two days to get the house ready for the recital and finally everything was in place. The pianoforte had been situated in the far corner, where the pianist could look up and appreciate his audience. Lighted candelabras, placed on tall Corinthian column pedestals, stood on both sides of the piano. All the furniture in the room had been removed, and small straight-back chairs were lined tightly together in rows for the thirty guests who had been invited.

With the help of Babs’s and Fern’s delicate handwriting skills, all the invitations had gone out the day after the Cuddlebury’s party. Rosabelle had been eager for the party when Gabrielle first told her about it, but her mind had changed quickly. She refused to help with anything concerning the recital and vowed not to come out of her room the entire evening because she couldn’t convince Gabrielle to invite Staunton.

The response to the event had been better than Gabrielle expected, considering the short notice and her less-than-spotless standing in Society. She had remained firm against her aunt’s insistence that she must at least add a flutist or violinist to the pianist or the guests would become quite bored. She didn’t want her aunt to know, but that was exactly what Gabrielle wanted.

This entire evening had been set up so she could impress upon Lord Brentwood that she didn’t know the first thing about the proper way to give a party. Surely he wouldn’t want a wife who didn’t know how to adequately entertain or maintain his household. Though, in truth, she was the complete opposite. She had helped her father plan and manage parties since she was sixteen. She was more than efficient with every social occasion and knew all the proper dos and don’ts. She was sure her knowledge of what was expected, and always doing it, was the reason she was having such a difficult time trying to prove to Lord Brentwood she wouldn’t make an acceptable wife. Trying to change one’s natural abilities wasn’t as easy as she thought it would be.

She had been very select in choosing the guests. She had invited Lord Snellingly and several other members of the Royal Society of Poets. Those gentlemen would probably send Brent running for the door the moment they opened their mouths about verse. Lord Waldo Rockcliffe had responded that he would be in attendance. That should make Brent very uncomfortable, since most everyone in London suspected that Lord Waldo and one of Brent’s brothers had been less than civil to each other.

She had also invited the extremely showy, pious, and well-decorated Count Vigone, who had recently returned from Italy with more stories about how great he was than anyone wanted to hear. That count had a propensity for irritating the most patient of gentlemen. She had invited Brent’s brothers and the youngest and silliest of the past Season’s debutantes who hadn’t already made a match. If all these misfits didn’t make Brent see she would have no idea how to pair guests and host a party for him if they married, she had added one more gentleman to the evening. Sir Randolph Gibson had to be Brent’s biggest nemesis. With almost everyone in London thinking the dapper old gentleman was his brothers’ real father, surely Brent would never forgive her for inviting that man to the recital.

This simply must work. Not only was Gabrielle finding it very difficult to resist Brent’s romantic attentions, she was running out of time. She knew any day now she would hear from her father that he was returning home. Once that happened, she knew he would be calling on his solicitor and checking with Brent about setting a wedding date.

“I’ve made the rounds one last time,” her aunt said, coming up behind her. “Everything seems to be in place.”

Gabrielle faced her aunt. “Oh, good.”

Auntie Bethie rubbed the back of her neck. “I have to say again, Gabby, I’m not happy about making the guests come inside and immediately sit down to an hour of music before we give them a sip of drink or bite of food.”

Gabrielle knew it was the epitome of bad taste to do so, but she was getting desperate. “I know what I’m doing, Auntie.”

“Then why in heaven’s name couldn’t we at least add a violinist, a cellist, or a flutist? Piano music can become tedious for those who are not trained in music.”

“I know you don’t understand, Auntie. But you must trust me that this is the way I want it.”

She knew desperation made people do strange things. She’d certainly done that the morning she’d met Brent in the park and she was still trying to make amends for her rash behavior.

“I’ve been trying to work out in my mind why you want tonight to be a disaster, but I’m puzzled.”

Gabrielle remained silent. She hated the thought of disappointing her aunt, and for a moment wondered if she had gone too far. But what other choice did she have? Her father was away. She couldn’t try to dissuade him. There was nothing left for her to do but discourage Brent.

“You know you don’t have to tell me what is going on in that busy mind of yours,” her aunt said. “I just hope it accomplishes what you want.”

Gabrielle hugged her aunt. “You don’t know how much I appreciate your saying that, Auntie.”

“Well, you certainly chose your dress well,” her aunt said, admitting defeat again and changing the subject. “You look stunning tonight, dearie.”

“Thank you,” Gabrielle said and looked down at her gown, a plain, cap-sleeved, high-waisted dress of pale yellow. Over the shift, she wore a long-sleeved, golden-colored tulle that flowed gracefully down her body. Around her neck hung three long strands of delicate pearls, and matching earrings that had belonged to her mother. Her hair had been swept up into a loose chignon with pearls woven throughout the bun.

“Oh, that was the doorknocker,” Auntie Bethie said. “Let’s go greet the first guest.”

More than two painful hours later, Gabrielle had finally had enough. As the guests had arrived, she had shown them straight into the music room and had them sit down. When Brent arrived, looking dapper in a black evening coat with an ivory-colored waistcoat, she asked him to sit on the front row and save her a seat beside him.

After it appeared that all the guests had arrived, she announced the pianist, Mr. Michael Murray. She had heard him before and knew him to be an uninspired pianist who played long, tiring scores. When she had asked him to do the recital, she had told him to feel free to play as long as he wanted. He reminded her that he sometimes played for hours without stopping. That gave her a moment’s pause, so she then told him to play until she rose from her seat and went to stand beside him.

Everyone had remained alert and attentive during the first hour, but when it stretched far into the second, she started hearing coughs, clearing of throats, and scooting of chairs. Still she didn’t rise. Beside her, Brent remained the perfect gentleman, seldom moving, and listening as if he was enjoying every moment. Occasionally, she would glance over at him to see if he were sleeping, because someone near her was snoring. When she couldn’t take the boredom any longer, she rose and went to stand by the pianoforte, waiting for Mr. Murray to finish the score.

She started clapping, and all her guests rose and started clapping joyously, too. After Mr. Murray took his bow, she asked her aunt to lead everyone into the dining room for the champagne and the buffet. Brent was the only one who didn’t exit the room quickly. He waited patiently until Mr. Murray had finished talking to her and left the room, leaving them completely alone.

Brent stood in front of her and looked as if he was holding back a smile. That didn’t bode well. She had hoped to see anger, or at the very least strong annoyance at having to sit through such a dreadful recital. Her father would have been steaming with rage.

She clasped her hands together under her chin, smiled, and said, “Did you think he was divine, a true master at the pianoforte?”

Brent walked a little closer to her. “Did you think so?”

Not wanting to add another fib to her long and growing list, she took a step back and answered, “Don’t you?”

“I’ve heard better pianists, Gabrie,” he said and advanced on her again.

Gabrielle took another step back and hit the side of the pianoforte. She was trapped. “There was much applause. I’m certain everyone loved Mr. Murray’s interpretation of so many of their favorite scores.”

“I’m certain the reason they clapped so long and loud was because it was finally over and they could stand up and get something to eat and drink.”

“I’m sure you are unjustly embellishing everyone’s reaction.”

He bent his head closer to hers and said, “No, Gabrie, I’m not.”

She looked at his lips and had the urge to moisten her own. Whenever he was close to her, she always wanted him to kiss her. “Perhaps we should join everyone else for the buffet.”

“Oh, yes,” he said with a knowing smile and moved his face even closer to hers. “I’m quite eager to go into the dining room and greet everyone. You’ve managed to invite some of my favorite people—the insipid Lord Waldo, the crafty Sir Randolph, and the braggart Count Vigone. I’m surprised you didn’t invite Lord Snellingly, too.”

“Oh, I did,” she said quickly. “But he didn’t come.”

“No doubt he was the only one who’d heard the pianist play before.”

“But I also invited your brothers and several young ladies for them to meet and have wonderful conversation with them.”

“The young ladies who are here are so charming, my brothers are probably already hoping they will never be on one of your guest lists again.”

He was so close, her breathing became choppy. She desperately wanted him to kiss her, knowing it would be madness for him to do it here in her home where anyone could walk in at any time. She searched his eyes and couldn’t read their depths, but she wondered why there was no real anger in them. Why couldn’t she seem to do anything that made him fiercely angry or even mildly upset with her?

“Are you chiding me or teasing me, my lord?” she asked.

“Neither. I’m thinking about kissing you. After what you just put me through, I believe I deserve a kiss or two, don’t you?”

She spread her arms out to her sides, grasped hold of the pianoforte, and leaned her weight against it. Oh, yes, that was what she wanted from him.

But she said, “You can’t do that. Someone might walk in and see you, and there would be more scandal.”

He placed his fingertips under her chin and tilted her head back, lifting her lips to his, and whispered, “I have no fear of that, Gabrie. Your guests’ throats are dry, their stomachs empty, and their rumps tired of sitting. I’m sure they are devouring the buffet, swilling the champagne, and praying they won’t see you so they don’t have to lie to you and tell you they enjoyed the evening.”

She swallowed hard. “Please don’t feel you have to spare my feelings, my lord.”

He smiled. “I don’t have to. You knew exactly what you were doing, just as I’m more than willing right now to take my chances on another scandal.”

Suddenly Gabrielle craved to feel his lips on hers. Brent must have felt the same, because his eyes darkened and his lips parted slightly. He bent his head so close to hers she felt his breath. Gabrielle’s breathing became short and rapid in anticipation.

Instead of kissing her, he gently placed the tips of his fingers on her forehead and let them trickle down the bridge of her nose, over her lips and chin, and then down the slender column of her throat, to stop where her bosom heaved beneath her dress. He watched the trail of his light touch. His lace cuff tickled her skin, and she smelled the clean scent of shaving soap on his hand. His intense gaze moved back up to her eyes. He then flattened his hand, pressing hard as his hand slid between her breasts, down her midriff, past her stomach to rest at that most intimate spot between her legs.

Gabrielle gasped at the thrill of desire that shot through her. Her heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint.

She knew she should slap his hand away, yet she didn’t want to. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted to feel the delicious tingles she was feeling. His palm cupped her and pressed against her. She gasped again as she lifted her lower body to him, straining to get closer to his warmth. Their eyes searched. Their breath mingled. She didn’t know what he was doing to her, but it was making her knees weak, her breaths jerky, and her body moving in rhythm to the pressing of his hand. He moved his face even closer to hers. She parted her lips to accept his kiss.

Loud laughter sounded from the corridor, and Brent spun away from her, putting distance between them. Gabrielle straightened and tried to control her breathing.

They both stared at the doorway, but no one came into the room.

Finally Brent looked at her and said, “I won’t be staying for the buffet.”

She cleared her throat and huskily whispered, “Why?”

“Lord Waldo asked me and my brothers to go hunting with him and some other men later tonight. I need to go home and change for that.”

“Lord Waldo?” she questioned.

“Yes. We have one thing in common, remember? Our dogs are missing. We’ll search the parks.”

“Oh, I see.”

She wanted to ask when she would see him again, but knew that was the last thing she needed to say.

“I’ll walk out first,” he said. “You can follow me in a few minutes. You need to give the blush time to leave your cheeks.”

Brent turned and walked out. Gabrielle’s hands flew to her face. Her cheeks were hot, and no wonder! Whatever it was he was doing to her had her completely in his control. She was failing miserably at her vow to be an unacceptable bride and resisting his charm.

A few minutes later, Gabrielle walked into the drawing room and was surprised to see Brent still there and that Lord Snellingly had arrived. The earl was talking excitedly to the small group that surrounded him.

She walked up beside Brent and said, “What is going on?”

Without looking at her, he said, “Lord Snellingly found Josephine.”

“No!” she whispered in surprise. “I mean, oh, how wonderful for him that he found her. Where was she?”

“He’s not sure. He said a young man brought her to his door late this afternoon, and that’s why he’s just now getting here. He had to spend some time with Josephine before coming over.”

She touched his arm, and he turned to her. “I’m thrilled for Lord Snellingly, but I’m also sorry it wasn’t Prissy who was found. Will you still go on the hunt tonight?”

His gaze brushed down her face, and she had the feeling he was telling her he wanted to kiss her.

“I’ve told you I’ve settled my mind about Prissy, but if I can help find the other dogs, I’m willing to do what I can.” He nodded to her and turned away.

Gabrielle watched Brent walk out, and her hands tightened into fists as her heart broke for him. She would give anything if he could find Prissy.

“Gabby,” Auntie Bethie said, taking her arm and ushering her away from the crowd. “That was the longest and the worst performed piano recital I have ever been to.”

“I know.”

Her aunt’s brow wrinkled. “Did you know that several people didn’t even stay for a drink? The Brentwood twins, Count Vigone, and Lord Waldo have already left, and I just saw Lord Brentwood walking out the door, too. I think they were afraid you would call them back into the music room for an encore. You don’t plan to do that, do you? For if you do, I’ll take my leave now as well.”

“No, of course not, Auntie.” Gabrielle smiled. “Mr. Murray played quite enough for one evening.”

Her aunt tilted her head and inquired, “So do you think your attempt to give the worst party of the year was a smashing success?”

“Yes,” Gabrielle said somberly, wishing she’d never attempted the ill-fated party, because while the viscount was quite bored along with everyone else, he seemed to be once again willing to overlook her shortcomings. She was beginning to think she would have to give up on Lord Brentwood and accept that her hope rested in changing her father’s mind when he returned.

As if finally sensing her mood, Auntie Bethie said, “What’s wrong? I thought you’d be happy the evening went as you’d planned. There’s hardly anyone left here but the members of the Royal Poets Society and some chaperones for those young ladies, who are over there in the corner giggling because they drank their champagne too fast. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes, I’m pleased the evening went so very well.” She stopped and gave a sad smile. “That is I’m glad it was as boring as I planned. It’s just that I feel so sorry for Lord Brentwood because Lord Snellingly has found his dog, Josephine, and Brent’s dog, Prissy, is still missing.”

Auntie Bethie sighed. “Oh, my, yes. That would put a damp cloth on anything. But maybe after he’s had time to think about it, he’ll feel encouraged that since Lord Snellingly’s dog was found, his will be too.”

“Maybe,” Gabrielle said.

“What’s wrong, dearie? There’s something more wrong than the missing dog, isn’t there?”

Gabrielle looked at her aunt, who had such concern in her features. “Yes, Auntie,” Gabrielle said, realizing she wanted to speak the truth. “I think I’ve fallen in love with Lord Brentwood. And I’m so afraid that, because of my feelings for him, I will weaken my resolve, give in, and let my father arrange a marriage to Lord Brentwood.”

A look of compassion settled on her aunt’s features and she asked, “Why would that make you sad? I should think you would welcome these feelings, since your father wants you to marry him.”

Gabrielle felt an ache in her heart. “He doesn’t want to marry me, Auntie. My father is forcing him. How could I ever find any happiness living with a man my father forced to marry me?”